It was always nice to walk across the bright green grass of his Wonder, basking in the peace and quiet. It was one of the best places to go and relax, or think, or hang out with a friendly dragon that assisted him in battle when necessary. More than all of that, though, it was a place he brought people in need. Those that needed to train, or to talk in private, or simply clear their own heads. Generally, these fields beyond the ruined circle of the outer castle town served well enough. It was rare for him to take anyone into the castle itself, even after years of restoring it. It was his pet project, in many ways, and a more sacred place than it was in legend.

Or he just did not want people to track mud across the carpets. It was impossible to reasonably require someone to take off their shoes, especially considering some of the overly complicated costumes out there.

It wasn’t like he could take off his own armor boots on a whim, after all. They were pretty much welded to his feet.

Camelot walked through the main street of the still mostly destroyed castle town, reclaimed by time and its strange suspension in a mystical space. He would worry about restoring things out here in due time, but he mainly considered the castle itself his true Wonder. Overhead, Kigharrah roared and circled through the clouds, though his flight seemed listless and difficult for him. Camelot watched his summon for a moment, then walked into the main courtyard of the castle grounds. The gate was always open, the drawbridge always down. There was no reason to have it look defensive or closed off.

Focusing, he walked into the great hall, where the throne remained in the state he had found it. With no intention to ever sit in it, he kept it in its decayed and broken form. He found he liked the look, and the meaning it carried, though he had spent so much time and care fixing everything else around it. He walked to the stairs that would take him under the castle, to the meeting place that once held some of the greatest knights in human legend. It was where they met to discuss how to better protect their kingdom and people, and of course how to serve their King and leader. They would sit around a circular table, each spot marked for the knight that occupied it. Now, only one seat remained emblazoned, with the golden sigil of the Earth.

Camelot pulled the tall chair out and sat down, sighing as he relaxed his acting back into the padding he had carefully restored. His mind wandered to his fight, his injuries, and to the person he had failed to protect. Who had risked everything to save him, but lost themselves in the process. He was unsure where they were, what had happened after that battle, but any effort to contact them failed. All he heard was silence.

Sighing, he forced his focus once more. He was here for a purpose, no matter his personal feelings. He reached his hand toward the center of the table, which dimly glowed due to what was housed inside. Closing his eyes, he reached with more than just his hand, the power of the Royal Knight thrumming inside him.


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